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Then Elsie raised her head and met her wooer face
to face;
A roguish smile shone in her eye and on her lip
found place.
Back from her low white forehead the curls of
gold she threw,
And lifted up her eyes to his, steady and clear and
blue.

“I am a lowly peasant, and you a gallant knight;
I will not trust a love that soon may cool and turn
to slight.
If you would wed me henceforth be a peasant, not
a lord;
I bid you hang upon the wall your tried and trusty
sword.”

“To please you, Elsie, I will lay keen Dynadel
away,
And in its place will swing the scythe and mow
your father’s hay.”
“Nay, but your gallant scarlet cloak my eyes can
never bear;
A Vadmal coat, so plain and gray, is all that you
must wear.”

“Well, Vadmal will I wear for you,” the rider
gayly spoke,
“And on the Lord’s high altar I’ll lay my scarlet
cloak.”
“But mark,” she said, “no stately horse my peasant
love must ride,
A yoke of steers before the plough is all that he
must guide.”

The knight looked down upon his steed: “Well,
let him wander free
No other man must ride the horse that has been
backed by me.
Henceforth I’ll tread the furrow and to my oxen
talk,
If only little Elsie beside my plough will walk.”

“You must take from out your cellar cask of wine
and flask and can;
The homely mead I brew you may serve a peasant.
man.”
“Most willingly, fair Elsie, I’ll drink that mead
of thine,
And leave my minstrel’s thirsty throat to drain
my generous wine.”

“Now break your shield asunder, and shatter sign
and boss,
Unmeet for peasant-wedded arms, your knightly
knee across.
And pull me down your castle from top to basement
wall,
And let your plough trace furrows in the ruins of
your hall!”

Then smiled he with a lofty pride; right well at
last he knew
The maiden of the spinning-wheel was to her troth.
plight true.
“Ah, roguish little Elsie! you act your part full
well
You know that I must bear my shield and in my
castle dwell!

“The lions ramping on that shield between the
hearts aflame
Keep watch o’er Denmark’s honor, and guard her
ancient name.

“For know that I am Volmer; I dwell in yonder
towers,
Who ploughs them ploughs up Denmark, this
goodly home of ours’.

“I tempt no more, fair Elsie! your heart I know
is true;
Would God that all our maidens were good and
pure as you!
Well have you pleased your monarch, and he shall
well repay;
God’s peace! Farewell! To-morrow will bring
another day!”

He lifted up his bridle hand, he spurred his good
steed then,
And like a whirl-blast swept away with all his
gallant men.
The steel hoofs beat the rocky path; again on
winds of morn
The wood resounds with cry of hounds and blare
of hunter’s horn.

“Thou true and ever faithful!” the listening
Henrik cried;
And, leaping o’er the green hedge, he stood by
Elsie’s side.
None saw the fond embracing, save, shining from
afar,
The Golden Goose that watched them from the
tower of Valdemar.

O darling girls of Denmark! of all the flowers
that throng
Her vales of spring the fairest, I sing for you my
song.
No praise as yours so bravely rewards the singer’s
skill;
Thank God! of maids like Elsie the land has
plenty still!
1872.